


You Got Your Memories

by AFishNamedSushi



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFishNamedSushi/pseuds/AFishNamedSushi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes your mind wanders back to before the world went to hell. But, memories can be dangerous. A series of one-shots from different character POVs. </p><p>Ch. 1 - Gestures (Rick)<br/>Ch. 2 - Toys (Sophia)<br/>Ch. 3 - Dancing (Lori)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gestures

 

>  
> 
> _'Well do they know what it's like to have a graveyard as a friend?_
> 
> _'Cause that's where they are boy, all of them._
> 
> _Don't seem likely I'll get friends like that again.'_

_\- Talking Old Soldiers, Elton John_

It was in a bar like this one where he first met her.

~~~ 

_She's wearing red. Bright red. The contrast of it to her pale skin and dark hair makes her seem like some phantasm. Tall, slender, majestic, and completely at ease sitting and laughing with her friends at a small round table in the corner._

_'Go talk to her', Shane had said, 'All ya gotta do is tell her you're a cop and she'll be all over you, man'_

_He can hear him and the other guys laughing at him now as he weaves through the other bar patrons. He's not sure what dementia possessed him to follow Shane's advice and approach._

_His feet feel like lead, each step forward an effort. He half wishes he was in uniform just to absorb the confidence from having an air of authority. He's grasping for it now, but he's too far out at sea to back up. She's seen him coming, peering at him over the salted rim of her margarita glass._

_He clears his throat, Shane's boisterous laughter ringing in his ears._

_"Hi"_

_He clears his throat again._

_"I'm Rick"._

_~~~_

There's a small hitch in the steady thrum of his heartbeat, a pale echo of what once before was a magnificent mixture of trepidation and excitement. A deja vu of a distant memory, that feeling. Seems like his heart only ever beats that way anymore when running for his life. Still, he supposes it's a good sign he's feeling anything at all.

Progress.

Sunlight guides their path across the tile floors, peeking through slats in the metal shutters barring the windows. Light reflects off surfaces of muted metal, the minimal dust kicked up by their careful footsteps hangs around them like a cloud. They make their way around overturned tables and piles of accumulated debris, taking special care not to accidentally step on anything that could cause unnecessary noise.

It's just the two of them who ventured inside the rundown hovel, Daryl and he. The rest of the group are waiting outside, surrounding the cars and keeping alert. He won't allow there to be less than two capable members left behind with the group. Glenn and T-Dog can handle themselves, at least for a little while while he and Daryl collect what they came for.

He's not planning to stay long here.

The wooden bar top is covered with a thick layer of dust, matted into a greying paste after so many months. Untouched, pristine. Lifting his hand, he signals for Daryl to move to the bar's right side while he moves to the left. Daryl nods, already on the move. They advance towards the bar in unison.

Silent, steady, standard.

Flanking techniques they've practiced and perfected almost to the point of telepathy. Gun leading the way, he pauses before taking that last step around the side.

Listens for any sounds.

~~~ 

_"Rick"_

_Her voice is muffled by the pillow wrapped around his head. He almost thinks it might be part of his dream until he feels her hand on his shoulder, lightly pushing._

_"Rick, baby, I'm sorry but I gotta go get some more"._

_He understands. Eyes still closed, he rolls over and grasps her hand in his, placing a kiss to the inside of her wrist._

_"I got it"_

_He drags himself to the kitchen, opening the cabinet over the sink with one hand and smothering a yawn with the other._

_Second time this week. But cravings will pass._

_~~~_

He hears nothing.

Looking to Daryl confirms the same, and they move as one around the sides. It's empty. No walkers, no hiders. Just more piles of junk from when people must have ransacked the place when the outbreak began. Back when they thought things like money and expensive booze would mean anything.

The coast clear, he crouches down and begins looking around the shelves, moving stacks of paper around with the point of his gun. Slight movement at his back lets him know that Daryl is doing the same, crossbow shouldered now that the immediate threat of danger has passed. Dust flies in his face as he pulls things out and he can't help but feel like he's desecrating the place even though it had been so far gone before they'd even shown up.

A grunt tells him Daryl's found what they're looking for, and when he rises to his feet the familiar dark container is waiting on the counter.

Morton's Salt.

He stares at it, clenches his jaw. Reaches out to grab it, finger brushing the metal tab on the top. He lets his fingers linger for a moment, and the present is overlapped by a thin layer of past.

Memories inspired by touch.

~~~ 

_She's yelling at him. Again. He knows why she's upset._

_He's leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded over across his chest. She's telling him how she can't take this anymore, that the not knowing where he is and if he's going to come home is something she can't live with._

_"And what about Carl? Do you think he would understand if something like that happened to you?"_

_A convenient store robbery went wrong the day before, the news running with a leading story of the off-duty cop who got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was killed by accident, caught in the cross-fire between the robber and store clerk._

_It's not the same, and she knows it. She's just scared._

_And so he lets her yell._

_She sits at the kitchen table with her head in her hands, deep sobs wracking her thin frame. His eyes flick to the clock on the wall. He's going to be late for his shift if he doesn't leave soon._

_She stills when he reaches over her shoulder, arm passing the salt and pepper shakers with lopsided letters that Carl had made in kindergarten._

_He grabs his duty-belt and straps it around his waist. He wants to say something to comfort her, to assure her that everything will be okay. But as he holsters his revolver, he knows he can't promise that._

_So he leaves._

_~~~_

He recoils his caress as if burned, then swiftly grabs the container and moves towards the door.

They step outside into the bright light of the Georgia sun and he sees the group right where he left them gathered around the caravan. They all look up when the door shuts, waiting for orders on what to do next.

She moves towards him slightly when he nears, hands resting around her growing belly.

The can is heavy in his hand, suddenly much heavier than the gun.

He needs to be able to use the gun, and they've already spent too much time here already.

He passes the can harshly to Daryl and doesn't look at her as he moves to the driver's side door.

"Let's go"


	2. Toys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mentions of abuse and domestic violence.

"But, I will take you back, Kathleen

To where your heart will feel no pain

And when the fields are fresh and green

I will take you to your home, again..."

\- I'll Take You Home Again Kathleen, Irish folk song

 

He shoved her inside the hole and told her not to go anywhere.

It smells overwhelmingly of dirt and mud, of primal earth. It's cold and dark in here, even though she can see the sun shining on the water right in front of her. There are roots poking her in the back, scraping whatever bit of skin they can that's not covered by her clothes. She can feel the dirt flaking off as it gets in her ears, her eyes, her mouth.

Sophia clutches her doll closer to her chest, shutting her eyes against the hot stream of tears. She doesn't remember grabbing it when she ran, but it's here now. Tattered and worn, but it's the only real one she's ever had.

~~~

_Mom took her shopping at the big chain grocery store a few times when she was little. Sophia doesn't remember how old, but she remembers that she had to stand on her tip-toes to reach up to the top of the counter at the check-out. She would run her hands over the automatic conveyor belt and just let them slide down as far as she could without moving her feet, then do it again._

_This time it must have been around the holidays. There were oversized decorations hanging from the ceiling, sparkling tinsel twirts that swayed with the air conditioner blasts. And bright paper cutout hands, each with a different name. She tried to read them all as best she could, but some letters were still unfamiliar. She would have known her own name if she saw it though._

_The display of holiday toys was a surprise, and she couldn't control her reaction when she saw them. Breaking away from Mom's hand, Sophia ran towards them. So many different things! Animals she had seen in pictures, fluffy pillows with decorative stickers, trucks and blocks that blinked and lit up._

_With wide eyes she looked around for Mom and found her standing right next to her. She reached out to brush a lock of Sophia's hair behind her ear, wearing a small smile on her face. It was tinged with sadness. Even at that age Sophia could sense it._

_She didn't run to toys anymore after that._

_~~~_

She turns it over in her hands to make sure it's okay, and panics when she sees the bright bloody streak across the front of its dress.

She hurt her hands when she fell while she was running. They're red and streaked with blood, pebbles and sand still stuck in raised indentations.

_Sophia has her hands wrapped tight around her stomach because it hurts. She's got a stomach ache and she feels like she's gonna throw up, the bile rising up in the back of her throat until she swallows it down. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes and she knows she can't cry. She can't cry because then it would look like something's wrong. Through a hazy film she sees Mom and the policeman sitting on the couch right across from her. Mom's got her arms wrapped around her stomach too because it hurts, but it's for a different reason._

_The policeman shines a light in Mom's eyes, first one then the other, and the light creates a stark contrast between her pale skin and the dried blood around her mouth. She looks like she's wearing clown makeup, or the pretty red lipstick Sophia had found hidden in the back of the toilet. She was confused at first when she found it - Daddy said that women shouldn't wear makeup because it means you're being prideful - and Mom didn't wear any makeup since she could remember. But she was drawn to it, the compact little black cylinder in her palm. So bright and daring, like holding a neon light in her hands. She's seen Miss Sarah and the other teachers wear lipstick like that, like gigantic versions of the Barbies she loves to play with when the other girls bring them to school._

_"I told you, I was in a car accident. It wasn't reported." Mom is saying._

_Sophia wipes her mouth off with the back of her hand and looks to make sure it's all gone now._

_The policeman sitting with Mom closes his notebook and gets up off the couch. He's tall and his uniform is dark and Sophia thinks he looks like a giant. He's talking to Mom and she's nodding her head, holding her hand out to take a card when he gives it to her. Sophia looks away when he looks at her, shrinking herself back behind the doorway until the shadows swallow her. She looks down at the bare brown tiles until she sees them obscured by a pair of large shiny black boots._

_He crouches down in front of her, eyes at her level, but she won't look at him._

_"Sophia?"_

_She focuses on his badge._

_"Sophia? My name is Officer Williams."_

_So bright and shiny._

_"Don't talk to her!" Mom is upset, moving to get off the couch much faster than is comfortable._

_Miss Sarah says that if you ever need help you can go to a policeman or a fireman. Anyone with a badge._

_Bright and shiny and big_.

~~~

Rick wasn't wearing his badge.

He left her here and told her to wait for him to come back but he wasn't wearing his badge. He's supposed to be a policeman but he took it off.

She can feel her heart beating too fast, and it's getting harder to suck in breath between cries.

She clutches the raggedy doll tighter in her hands. Her ears are primed for any sound of him coming back but she can't hear anything over her heartbeat.

It's been too long and he won't come back. He got lost or bitten.

She doesn't think she had run too far. She could make it back.

Slowly she climbs from the dirty hole, feet sinking into the muddy banks of the riverbed. Unsticking herself, Sophia looks around at the endless circle of forest surrounding her.

She thinks that tree looks familiar. She's pretty sure she ran from that direction.


	3. Dancing

 

>  
> 
> _'Cried when she should and she laughed when she could_
> 
> _Well closer to God is the one who's in love_
> 
> _And I walk away cause I can_
> 
> _Too many options may kill a man'_

> _\- The Professor & La Fille Danse, Damien Rice_

xxxxxx

LORI

xxxxx

* * *

His lips are hot on hers, suffocating with their intensity but so perfect nonetheless.

She's been waiting for this for such a long time, and she knows that part of her haste comes from that waiting. The anticipation. Even though it wasn't a conscious one, wasn't a painful longing, it still reeks of desperation and undeniable need when it hits her full on.

The emotions take voice and she moans deep in her throat, a heavy sound, welling up to the point where she finds that she really can't breathe. Her heart has swollen into her brain, cohesive thought abandoned for the sake of searching, scrambling for purchase.

Adrift at sea.

She brings her hands to the sides of his face, holding him tighter, caressing his cheeks and feeling the scratchy texture of stubble against the pads of her fingers.

xxxxxx

_She finds herself strangely happy that he hasn't had the opportunity to shave for a few days. It makes him look older, more rugged. He was always so clean shaven. So meticulous in maintaining the clean appearance to accompany the uniform._

_She hadn't been expecting it when he had moved in close behind her, wrapping confident arms around her waist and nuzzling his chin into that sensitive juncture between her neck and shoulder. What startled her at first quickly blossomed into a spreading warmth, the heat of arousal spreading through her like fire._

_Her eyes drift shut, swept up in the rush of liquid warmth that makes her muscles slack and feel like jelly. She forgets what her hands were doing, and they hang in front of her like leaden weight._

xxxxxx

She's squeezing his face harder than she intends, but he doesn't seem to notice. Or care. Or both.

The noise she makes finally reaches her ears and its enough to make her break the kiss and come up for desperately needed air. She takes in a big gulping breath, relieved, and opens her eyes to see his open too.

Close and intense.

She fills her lungs again, taking in the musty scent of metallic earth, evidence of the hard day's work and stress of leadership. He wears confrontation like a second skin, conflict and diplomacy warring inside him so intensely she imagines she can see it in his eyes all the time. Imagines that it has its own taste, its own tangible flavor that permeates with his beating heart.

He smoothes his hands down her shoulders, her back, up and down in a soothing caress that's both persistent yet chaste. She reciprocates the motion, moving her hands down to his shoulders, gripping tightly at the bunched fabric of his shirt. Her impatience is more at odds with his attempt to slow things down, and they've hit a wall.

The moment pauses while the stare stretches between them.

She feels her mouth forming into a smile of its own volition and her heart flips a little when she sees him do the same. Sounds of the surrounding night make their way through the fog, crickets and frogs whose songs meld into the ring of distant words.

The reality of the situation hits them both, little bursts of soft laughter escaping in exhaled sighs.

xxxxxx

_She's breathing harder now, worked up to the point of snapping. Pulled as taught as a wire, he would only need to apply the smallest bit of delicious tension and she would break. He knows this as well as she does. And though it's not their first time, it's the first chance they've had together in a long while._

_The first time they haven't been fighting or disciplining._

_The first time that she's not having to worry about things like work and school and Stuff. Things are finally falling into place and she can say that she is reasonably..._

_Happy._

xxxxxx

The smile they share quickly turns into another kiss, harsh and heavy and filled with all the things that they can't say out loud. Things better left for the light of day, for when they don't have the risk of being overheard. Problems and responsibilities better left forgotten under the surge of endorphins and mind-numbing passion.

She's not sure how, but they maneuver themselves downward and she revels in letting herself be swept away in the tide.


End file.
